'Mix Velez? Thoughts?'

My focus is yanked from the demon I've been drawing (on the desk because who needs paper?) to Emeto watching me with pursed lips. The rest of the class—well, those who are listening, turn to me too, waiting for my contribution.

'On the extent to which the women in the play influence its outcome,' Emeto prompts when I say nowt.

I don't even know what play we're talking about. I repeat, Cobham said I have to attend class on time and not be disruptive but that don't mean I have to listen. I might even have less of a grasp on my studies than I did a month ago.

Unable to not let everyone know that she knows everything, Diwa answers without being asked to, starts talking about witches or summat and talks with enough determination that Emeto can't be bothered to interrupt her and force me to answer. And I think I'm... grateful. Who knew such a day could come to pass?

The last quarter hour passes without questions directed at me and I've already stood when Emeto is giving us his goodbyes. 'Over the holidays, please brainstorm your coursework ideas. I expect you all to come back in January prepared to start writing.'

Though I'm the first out of the door, I don't rush toward the nearest exist like I would want to considering that were my last lesson before holidays. I have detention. From Adio's fire.

The sooner I get there, the sooner I get to leave.

I almost smile when I enter the detention room to find Ó Ceallaigh. She's the best teacher to have on detention duty because she's too timid to force anyone to work. She might even let us leave early.

Let me leave early. There's no one else here. I might actually get summat done since I won't need to worry about the potential of accidentally murdering someone.

That is, until the door opens. And... Diwa walks in.

Both Ó Ceallaigh and I are stunned motionless. Diwa? In detention? That's a glitch in the matrix. No chance.

I could be convinced that she lives in the walls and emerges only to go to lessons but detention? Now we're going too far.

Diwa keeps her eyes on the floor as she approaches Ó Ceallaigh and hands her a detention slip. What the fuck?

'Cecilio, you may find yourself a seat,' Ó Ceallaigh says when I try to read Diwa's form. It's not handwriting I recognise. Maybe it's her physics teacher's.

Lifting my hands in surrender, I drag myself to my favourite seat by the window.

The desks are separated from each other with plywood walls that extend a metre on each side, meaning I won't be able to see out the window, but I've been in isolation enough times to know this is the seat where I'm safest. It's across from the door but with a clear line of sight to it meaning I'll see anyone who comes in but also have enough time to defend myself.

I throw my bag onto the desk, casting a longing glance at the forecourt and everyone currently headed home for the holidays. I'm about to sit when I catch summat and grin.

Stepping out of my booth, I open the window. They only open a few inches but it's enough to yell.

'You let him dominate you like that, Sakda?'

Adio, who a second ago had Sakda pinned to the brick wall behind the cycle shelters, jolts back. They both search for the source before catching me in the second-storey window.

'Didn't realise you were into being all weak and pathetic like that.'

Sakda walks away.

What is going on in this school today? Is it like opposites day that no one told me–?

Rock. He's got a rock.

I stumble back from the window, grabbing Diwa, whose curiosity has got the best of her. I shove her away. She falls. I shield my eyes just as the glass shatters.

I wait a beat before lowering my arm from my face. The rock rests at my feet amidst shards of glass. All that's left of the window is the metal bars that are meant to prevent exactly this.

Sakda always did have good aim. He could play professional golf. Or basketball. Or be an assassin.

'Cecilio,' Ó Ceallaigh berates.

'I didn't break it.'

She hands me a broom and dustpan, then treads carefully over the glass to get to the window. 'Sakda, get in here! We've just had an assembly on destruction of school property and you're already breaking windows?'

Diwa brushes her skirt down once she's on her feet.

'You okay?' I ask. Not that I care cause we are not mates.

She nods.

I step back to the window to start sweeping. 'What are you doing in detention?'

Diwa watches me work, undoubtedly gloating on the inside even as she nervously pulls at her hair. 'I called Saadia a hypocritical cunt who should concern herself more with her parents' divorce than everyone else's lives.'

My jaw falls open. 'You what? What're your parents gonna say?'

'Nowt, turns out.'

I am buzzing at this news, unable to stop grinning as I sweep the last glass shards from beneath the nearest desks. Though part of me may be offended—here I were thinking I were special for being the only person she insults to their face.

The door opens but rather than Sakda, it's Annabella and Jeremy who hand Ó Ceallaigh their detention slips.

Diwa pales and for some reason steps closer to me. Like I'm about to fucking protect her or summat. She better think about that one again.

I use the proximity to whisper. 'Did you intentionally get detention to hang out with your crush? Because that is stalking.'

'No!' Diwa whisper-yells back just as Sakda sulks in. 'How were I meant to know she'd be here?'

'Ms,' Annabella asks, returning to Ó Ceallaigh's desk, 'can we not have detention in another room? It's freezing in here.'

'Why don't you ask Cece to build a fire to keep us warm?' Sakda suggest from somewhere behind the cubicle screens.

'That's enough of you two,' Ó Ceallaigh warns. What've I ever done? 'But you're right, Annabella. We can have detention in the library today.'

And so we head to the library. Ó Ceallaigh makes us all sit in the open cluster of desks where she can keep us in sight.

I drop into a chair as far from Sakda as possible. Which is unfortunately right beside Ó Ceallaigh but you can't win em all. Diwa hesitates, distaste of me steering her away, but maybe she reckons it would be too awkward now that we've started talking.

She lowers herself into a chair beside me like we're in a zombie apocalypse and making sound will alert them of our presence.

What if–?

I pinch myself (pain, hurt, pain) three times. Hold (hurt, pain) my breath for three seconds. It's just past three p.m. Diwa's shirt cuffs have three (hurt, pain) buttons. It's December sixteenth, one-six, and six divided by two is three.

I find my biology textbook, Diwa's stare sticky on my skin.

'Cecilio Velez, doing homework,' Diwa sings as she lays out her supplies. 'Eighth wonder of the world.'

'Make sure it's noted that they were an unwilling participant.'

We exchange smiles.

Ó Ceallaigh is nice but she's still sadistic enough to give us homework for the holidays and I know myself enough to know that if I don't do it now, it ain't gonna get done. And then I'll get expelled.

But even once I've got my notebook and pen ready, I don't start. Diwa is already writing when I interrupt.

'That coursework Emeto mentioned. What exactly is that?'

'The English coursework.'

'Yes...'

'It's the English coursework,' she repeats entirely unhelpfully. 'The non-exam assessment. Which is twenty percent of our final grade. That we're writing next term. Where we compare two texts.'

She says all this very slowly and I nod along though nowt clicks for me. Diwa's expression becomes increasingly cynical. I think I've been downgraded back to "worms for brains" status.

'For example, I'm writing mine on how femininity is portrayed and challenged in The Bell Jar and Anthony and Cleopatra... You do know what assessments we have, right? They always go over the syllabus in the first week of the year.'

'The first week?' I repeat and scoff. 'The first week of school is always useless. All they talk about is the syllabus.'

Diwa scowls. I know she's laughing on the inside, though.

She sighs. I think I can see through her frontal lobe to the monkey banging at a sign that reminds her to be the bigger person. 'What books do you like?'

'None. I don't read.'

The monkey is swallowed by the ground.

'You don't read,' she repeats, voice like lemon in a paper cut. 'And you're sitting English literature.'

'Easier to bullshit, innit. I can always write some bollocks about the representation of class or whatever but I can't wing my way through kinematics.' I shrug, fully aware she may punch me in the face. 'I follow the Sparknotes meme page so I reckon I'm sorted.'

Diwa's eyes are so narrow, I can't see even a sliver of white through her scrunched lashes. She picks up her pencil, adjusts her posture, and focuses on her textbook.

'Everything you do aggravates me,' she announces. 'So I'm going to ignore you now.'

A laugh rattles out of me. I shift my attention back to biology so I can get through the assigned exercises. I have two blessed weeks of not seeing this fucking building ahead of me.

'Anyway, cheers,' I say, smile tugging at my mouth. 'I'll... come up with summat over break. For this coursework you speak of.'